


Living on the Sea

by KoreanGal55555



Series: Dewdrop and Spitfire [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Ace Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Made-up Devil Fruit, Marineford Arc, Not Canon Compliant, POV Second Person, Portgas D. Ace Lives, Post-Marineford, Reader is a Naval Officer, Reader is overpowered(ish), Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 02:58:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15720597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreanGal55555/pseuds/KoreanGal55555
Summary: "You first meet the pirate when he’s being handed over by another - a betrayal that leaves your tongue dry and bitter. He’s bloody and bruised, more injury than health. It seems almost a miracle that he is as functional as he is, but his eyes are not beaten and are full of a fire that is, you think, not from his Devil Fruit."





	Living on the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Some background on yourself: 
> 
> Age: 23  
> Occupation: Navy Lieutenant
> 
> Devil Fruit: Za za (ざざっ) no Mi ("waves breaking") - healing abilities; acts as seastone cuffs through touch; can still swim  
> Source: https://www.tofugu.com/japanese/japanese-onomatopoeia/

You first meet the pirate when he’s being handed over by another - a betrayal that leaves your tongue dry and bitter. He’s bloody and bruised, more injury than health. It seems almost a miracle that he is as functional as he is, but his eyes are not beaten and are full of a fire that is, you think, not from his Devil Fruit.

_“What’d you do to get locked in here with me?”_

_“I’m here for you.”_

_“I hope you can understand my caution accepting food from my enemies, Ensign Dewdrop.”_

_“I do understand. I apologize.”_

_“For what?”_

You are sentenced to be his “personal guard” in Impel Down. You learn of each level and what prisoners undergo in each level, the sound of your blood drowning the words that die to come out. You learn of the secret level and of the people they house, the ones that reassure you that perhaps you are still doing what is right. That thought is not as comforting as it should be. His words at your expression are infuriating if only because he is right.

_“A lieutenant? You’re squeamish for a woman who signed up for this.”_

_“This is not what I signed up for.”_

_“Heh. I don’t know what you expected. You joined the group that plays judge, jury, and executioner.”_

_“I thought I joined to protect those who couldn’t.”_

You stand at the top of the execution stand, frozen when the crimes listed against the pirate ring against the air. They speak as if it were a crime to exist, and you do not approve. So when the younger brother’s Conqueror’s Haki distracts everyone, leaves them breathless with the possibilities for or against their own, you act. You’re woozy from the attack, weak as you are, so your “fainting” is only half-feigned. You change your trajectory and press your palm against his cuffs, face shielded from Fleet Admiral Sengoku. You prefer his smirk to this look.

_“I apologize. Live.”_

_“And you?”_

_“I will accept my punishment.”_

You get dragged off of the stand and into chaos. You fight defensively and in the midst of the battle end up agreeing to follow him onto the ship. (You snap that it’s only for a ride out, but your growing headache knows that he won’t let the subject go; the time you’ve spent with him has taught you more than enough.) His smirk, his words, and his eyes are what stay with you when he is impaled for his brother.

_“Why should we?”_

_“Please! I must right our wrong!”_

You work frantically after the end of the war out of hope and fear, a promise of an attempt and your life at the end. It’s slow going, hours and days blurring together before his heart beats once more, your feet numb and your eyes swimming with the lost days. You are uncertain how much time you take, only that when he breathes again once more, you give up consciousness finally.

_“Thank goodness.”_

You don’t expect to join a pirate crew, not with your Marine past hanging over your head and your own compliance in capturing one of their own, but you do. They are a big family, and it can be overwhelming at times, especially when you don’t feel as though you deserve to be in a place so full of love when you’ve been an accomplice to things that cannot be reversed.

A hand on your waist - polite and warm even through your clothes - pulls you from your musings.

“Morning, Dewdrop,” Ace greets, leaning down so that his chin rests on the top of your head.

“Morning, Spitfire,” you return, smiling lightly at the sign of affection that somehow bypasses your strict warnings to not pull his stitches. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I said yesterday, I’m fine,” he waves off, releasing you to casually lean on the railing beside you. (An entirely reformed abdomen and he was still grace.) You cast a critical eye over him, but he isn’t straining anything too much so you let him be, humming in acquiesce.

“Beli for your thoughts?” he asks, matching your gaze with a knowing one.

“Just musing,” you answer, waving a hand out to the large ocean. “I never imagined I’d become a pirate.”

“It suits you well,” he replies, eyes lingering on the new ink embracing your arm. You hold your hand out, letting your eye curl over it. The mark is of the Marines, white where Whitebeard’s mark is a dark blue shadow around it.

“I thought it might be disrespectful, mixing the Marine insignia with a pirate crew’s,” you admit, shrugging and leaning back with both of your hands clutching the rail.

“But you still went through with it,” he points out, smiling in a way that you know means he’s more curious than anything. You shrug.

“I can’t erase my past,” you return, reverting your balance to lean on the railing beside him. He pauses for a second, and you turn to him in question.

“What about my past?” he asks neutrally. You pause, raising a brow.

“Gol D. Roger?” you clarify, receiving a nod in turn. You chuckle, waving a hand to dispel the somewhat offended tilt of his eyebrow. “That implies you have something with him in the first place.”

He wordlessly scowls, and you sigh.

“Have you ever spent a day with him?” you question.

“No,” he spits, sounding both spiteful and confused.

“Have you held a conversation with him?”

“No.”

“Have you even met the man?”

“No.”

“Then what do you have from him?” you point out, twisting to lean back against the railing. “You don’t share any memories. He isn’t your father; Whitebeard is. Your surname is your mother’s.”

You scoot closer, looking up to him and hoping he will understand.

“Ace. You are _free_.”

His eyes shine with a fire not quite like the one from your first glimpse, and he holds his breath though you aren’t sure why. You move away, nervous suddenly, at how he’s singularly focused on you.

“That’s how I feel anyways,” you add quietly, turning your body and eyes to face the horizon.

He calls your name, and you instinctively look to him, curious at the unfamiliar tone.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice soft and low. You freeze, and you flush, pushing loose strands of hair behind your ear in nervousness. His eyes don’t leave your face, and your mouth dries at his patience.

“Ok,” you whisper finally, one hand still on the railing while the other rests lightly on his arm. His hand is warm on your hip, polite and careful.

Your lips meet his briefly, nothing more than pressure and a test, but it’s still wonderful.

The boisterous cheering from the Whitebeard pirates only serves to darken your blush.


End file.
